Linger
by Gale
Summary: Set in the background of season 3, attention is drawn to an unmentioned canon through the eyes of the one person who can't recognize the significance. Chapter 3 added
1. Default Chapter

Linger

X-men: Evolution

*Written By Gale*

Disclaimer - It goes without saying that some of the characters in here are mine. Others aren't. I'm not getting money. Sure, I want money, but not at the expense of a lawsuit, in which case I would end up with even less money than I have now, which is none. 

Chapter #1: Prologue

I bet you'd think that every kid from a small nowhere town would dream of moving someplace close to New York City. I used to be one of them. Then I moved to Bayville. Being near the life, the excitement, the magic -- it was enough to earn me a popular name in my old high school before I left. Too bad that kind of fame doesn't last, though, _especially _when you learn that living in a place near the big city means that everyone else around you doesn't _care. _Quick tip for future reference if you're excited about moving: the destination is never so welcoming as the things you left behind. 

My name is Molly Carver, and if that little blurb of an introduction didn't grab you, then you're sure to discover what all my new neighbors and classmates were sure to discover: I'm a fat, lazy nobody from a small nowhere town where nobodies are harvested like tobacco. (Actually, some of the nobodies, lazy and fattness optional, farm tobacco where I used to live, so imagine the irony.) Sure, all the people I knew -- 13 years worth of knowing, by the way -- were back at home missing me and feeling absolutely _thrilled _that they could say they knew somebody who now lived in New York. 

Of course, I got even _bigger _pats on the back (out of pity this time) when everyone realized I was going to the place where the first major mutant breakout was documented by the government. A few of my mom's friends even looked up some information on the internet about support groups, which actually meant they were hoping I'd join into the rash of anti-mutant sentiment that was sweeping the nation. Mom didn't quite approve of this, but she never said so in front of them. 

My friends weren't so dense, Mom included, who is my _best _friend (as all moms should be for their daughters). That is because, naturally, I only had a few, all of them very close, and they knew I might very well have been a mutant, myself. Nothing flashy to give it away, of course. I can read your basic tarot, tea leaves, and crystal balls, and I have a knack for knowing how other people feel, or knowing when they're lying to me. I'm also fairly good at doing bare minimum, (at the last minute, mind you,) in a given assignment and still pulling out better than most. But like I said, none of us are sure if that makes me qualify. Some fanatic activist might think so, though. You'd be amazed at how many openly goth, gay, and general-weirdos were kicked out of my old school in the months following the Presidential Address -- not because they were proven to be mutants, but because anti-mutants were beginning to strike out against anyone who just wasn't normal (and in Kentucky, that usually meant non-Southern Baptist, too). I got off easy in that area because while I do have my quirks, I keep them to myself. The only thing I ever got up in arms about was my attachment to Paganism, and that was because I was young and stupid at the time, and I only practiced because it was new and different. 

When I finally got up here, I kind of wished my mom had been coming with me, but no such luck. My parents were divorced the summer before my junior year. It took them until Christmas to sort out all the legal mumbo jumbo, and amid all that, everyone suddenly decided my father should get a transfer, and because mom works minimum wage, he should take me along to "support" me. Asshole couldn't just pay child support like all the other fathers that don't want to be around their kids, and _yes, _that _is _an accurate description. Before all this divorce business, the last meaningful discussion held between my figure of paternal mentality and myself had to do with getting my first and only C on my report card back in the sixth grade. Even then, all it involved was "Don't do it again. Now go ask your mother what's for dinner."

Anyhow, enough of my beef with the man of the house, on with the story. My father works for some company called cypherCom. I've never actually visited nor even asked Dad what he did after being promoted, but judging from the name, I think you and I can both guess that it probably has something to do with computers. All I do know is that it's run by some big-shot by name of Nathaniel Essex, who decided he could better run a corporate empire overseas as opposed to his native Britain, which is where he's from. Word is that he's running for Mayor or Governor or something like that. I didn't care to clarify because I hate politics. I love to argue and debate, though, so go fig. Anyhoo, I've seen him on TV a couple times since getting here, and I already don't like him. Is there a rule somewhere stating that all corporate executives should look like vampires? 

The Principal of my new high school wasn't shaping up to be much of a charmer, either. Have you ever met an adult, whom you _know _probably spent his wonder years wearing a pocket protector and fearing the word "swirly?" Principal Kelley was one of those guys, and he grew into a bitter, bitter man because of it. The way he looked at me when I went in for my schedule seemed to say -- I don't know -- something along the lines of "what now, bitch?" only in a slightly more forty-year-old-balding-white-guy way. He genuinely looked as though he was expecting me to undermine his authority, like every tom, dick and harry was out to make him look like a pansy. He didn't realize there was no need. He managed quite well by himself. You could say I was kind of bitter about our first encounter. He regarded me as a criminal, did the whole "I don't want to hear you've been causing trouble" speech, when the jerk had my permanent record right in front of him stating I was an honor roll student who'd never rocked the boat in her life. Obviously, being from Kentucky must have meant my old school system didn't have very strict disciplinary procedure. That's funny all by itself. Bayville High is a thirty minute drive from the projects, and _I _come from a criminal breeding ground?

So yeah. Not a good first impression for the new school. I was wary of the teachers after that, although I learned not to be after a day or two. It was just Kelley that I had to tread lightly around, which wasn't hard because out of habit I don't do a lot to draw attention. By doing what I did best, watching other people, I got the lay of the land pretty quick, noted who to avoid and who probably deserved a chance. The mutants in the school were pointed out for me by some gossip who couldn't put her money where her mouth was. Fairly nice looking kids, too. Appeared to do okay with friends and schoolwork. Someone told me the worst of them were expelled for starting a disturbance during an assembly. 

__

Yay, I thought. These kids could do some amazing things, apparently. Nothing like what I believed I should be proud of. Again, they looked like cool people, but I didn't have any classes with them, and being a watcher and not a doer, I never thought to approach them. 

When the first week was over and done with, I had no friends, and like any nervous new kid with no outward popularity to speak for, I segregated myself from everyone, everywhere possible. That kept up for two weeks, the turning point being when I had my schedule changed for no reason save that Kelley probably needed something to do. So out of chemistry I went (which I was glad for, since I hate the class) and into physics. 

That's where I met Newton. 

Newton Essex. 

TO BE CONTINUED


	2. Chapter 2

Linger

X-men: Evolution

*Written by Gale*

Disclaimer - Same rules apply.

Chapter #2:

By looking at him, I never would have guessed his name was Newton. With relation to the famous Isaac Newton (and _how _cliché was _that _for a Physics class?), it sounded rather nerdy. The boy sitting to my left, by the window and furthest back from everyone else, looked like anything _but _a nerd. At first sight, he was literally a huge glob of black -- and sadly mismatched despite color coordination. Until that day, I'd never met a person who thought it was okay to wear a pair of slacks and an oversized turtleneck together. Judging from his stance (or lack of one -- he was hunched over his desk), the choice was purposeful, but not in a "this looks cool" way. He would have been sitting closer to the rest of the class, unlike me, if he were looking for attention. No, his attire was being shown off more in a "I did this to piss my parents off" sort of way. 

He didn't quite appear to realize that I was sitting next to him until sometime after the minute-bell rang. Really, that was his own fault, too, because I sat down first. It was easy to tell when it dawned on him, though, because he suddenly wasn't hunching over the desk quite so much anymore. That, and he looked at me. Okay, it was _largely _because he was looking at me. If my presence there bothered him, he wasn't keen on saying so, as something in him was trying to scare me off with his eyes. I won't lie and say it wasn't a good try, because he _did _look pretty frightening. Vampire-like, in fact, which made me pipe into conversation first.

"You wouldn't happen to be related to Nathaniel Essex, would you?" (Ohhh the irony.)

Really, it was supposed to sound like a joke, and judging from his response, first a signature evil-glare of DEATH! Then what he said after, that was the wrong route to take.

"He likes to tell people that he's my father."

"Oh," was all I could say for the longest time. "_Oh!" _

"I've never seen you in this classroom before."

Well, he was irritated with me, but still talking back, so it wasn't a total loss. "No, I'm new here. Just moved here a couple weeks ago. Name's Molly Carver." I extended a hand reflexively. 

He glanced at it with all the expression of a cobblestone, then proceeded to ignore it. 

I winced and pulled it back, feeling sure, now, that I was wasting my time, and I shouldn't bother him anymore. It's things like this that taught me not to introduce myself to people. So the guy liked his privacy. I could just switch desks tomorrow and give him some room….

"Newton Essex."

"Huh?"

"That's my name. I guess."

"Well I'm glad one of us is sure," I said without thinking, then instantly regretted it. A strange quirk for this little quiet kid that I'm sure you'll grow accustomed to: I tend to blurt out the first thing that's on my mind if it's of the sarcastic and sour quality. 

The sound of his desk creaking made me look again, and for the longest time, Newton did what he did best, which is stare, of course. Then, miraculously, the corners of his mouth began to tug of their own accord. I _think _he was attempting to smile, but the act in itself looked like an uncomfortable one for him. To assume that anyone had so little reason to smile is quite beyond anything I'm willing to comprehend, though. But really -- he did look like he was a stranger to the whole concept, but it was there just the same. 

By then, the tardy bell had rung, and we were both smart enough to let things go as was for the time being, until, that is, the instructor ceased lecturing and handed out bookwork. Since I'm the type to finish homework in class, whether it's rushed and crappy or not, I jumped right into it, unlike many of the other students, who put their books away and began speaking amongst themselves. If I hadn't gotten stuck, I might not have acknowledged Newton again at all. But as it was, smart or not, I'm still lazy, and I needed help. 

"Have you gotten to number 12 yet?"

"I'm finished."

I almost slammed my book on my own hand when I heard that. Now, not only am I one lucky procrastinator, but I'm usually quick about working -- quicker than most. It'd only been about seven minutes since the end of the lecture, and there were forty questions. So you can imagine my disbelief. 

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"_How?" _

"Do you want to know that or the answer to number 12?"

I nodded toward his book. "Show me."

And sure enough, a paper-full of answers. All in ink, no mistakes.

"Did you copy it out of the back of the book?"

Newton wrinkled his nose at me, but rather than snap at me in the negative, which is what I expected, he came out a somewhat less-petty: "It's a chapter review. The answers _aren't _in the back of the book."

I checked the top of his desk for any signs of a graphic calculator, or anything else that might have aided in the speedy accomplishment, but none were present. "You did all that mentally?"

"Of course."

"Okay, fine." I scoot my desk over and showed him my paper. "Show me how you worked out number 12."

He sounded like a machine when he explained it, in the sense that he drawled in monotone like all this was common knowledge and therefore a waste of his time to explain. Machine or no, he was effective enough, and that one act of tutorship helped me with every other question I might have had a problem with afterward. But listening to him and, through my wandering mind, connecting what I could see of him to his father, something clicked. 

"Newton, you said your father was Nathaniel Essex." 

He quirked an eyebrow at me.

"Well," I went on, forcing my eyes onto my now closed assignment book, "you don't have an English accent."

"No, I suppose I don't." 

His rather flat way of responding only told me that I shouldn't press the subject, so to make a long story short, I didn't. Instead, I found solace in the face of the clock above the teacher's desk, which told me I could go home in a few minutes. That might have been all the more comforting if it weren't for the fact that I would have to walk. 

"Do you live nearby, Newton?" I asked boredly.

He bristled. "My father picks me up. And could you stop calling me that?"

"What, Newton?"

"Yes. I don't find it very appealing."

Well, my first thought was that he should have given me another name if he didn't want me calling him by it. Thankfully, my mouth didn't catch up in time to chase that notion past my lips, so I had something a bit more savory to shoot back with. "What do you want me to call you?"

He turned quiet, then, and that didn't sit well in my stomach. Was he trying to think of something for me to call him, or was he trying to say he didn't want me to call him anything at all? 

"Okay," I murmured, deciding I wouldn't give myself the chance to find out, "I get it. I'll leave you alone if you --"

"Nur."

"What?"

"Call me Nur."

Feeling relieved, I settled down better in my seat with a smile. "Is that your nickname?"

"You could say that."

TO BE CONTINUED….


	3. Chapter 3

Linger

X-men: Evolution

*Written by Gale*

Disclaimer - those characters owned by marvel enterprises are merely being borrowed and artistically interpreted. Those characters that are mine are exactly that: mine. Please don't use them. 

Chapter #3: 

The saying still goes in story telling that one thing gave way to another, and several weeks passed. Newton Essex, who preferred to be called Nur, was no longer the only friend that I'd made, and since he liked to keep to himself most of the time, our windows into each other's lives began and ended with my half-hearted attempts at conversation. I won't lie: I'm terrible at meeting people. Taking initiative is a big "no" for me in most cases, so the other kids I now knew on a first name basis were start-to-finish just there until the class period ended. I still sat by myself during lunch, and all in all my social life just pretty much stank. 

I dreaded the weekends. Father got his day off every Thursday, and he worked at any other time. It was really lonely, trying to occupy myself in the house with no one there. Being in a totally new place completely zapped any smidge of intuition I had left, so my tarot cards refused to speak to me. The house seemed to have no actual heart to speak of. No cold spots, no good vibes, not even any bad vibes. Just boring. 

In less stellar areas, there was no cable. _No Cable. _As of yet, dad didn't see the point in getting it, seeing as how I'd only just gotten there, and he'd been doing without for so long, and a teenage girl can only live so long on DVDs and Playstation 2, especially when Dad never had time to take her shopping for new movies and games. The internet offered me a proper outlet for a while, since I could remain in touch with all my friends back in Kentucky. But what I really wanted was some company. Someone to talk to in person. 

I don't know what possessed me to approach Nur one Friday. Perhaps it was the fact that he seemed to be the only intelligent teenager on earth. Maybe it was because I felt a certain something about him…

Or, let's face it, I'd asked all my other acquaintances -- girls, mind you -- and none of them much liked the idea of hanging out with me on the weekend. They had more important things to do. Like hang out with someone a little less pathetic and more fashionably coordinated. So much for making new friends. 

And that left Nur. He wasn't a big talker. I mean, I would ask him questions and he would answer them sometimes, but I never got the impression that I was annoying him. If anything, he was surprised I wanted to know so much about him. The only time he got really guarded and dodgy about his answers was when I brought up his father. He never asked me many questions about myself, though. Most of the time I'd talk, and he'd just listen. His was of laughing at a joke was usually half a smile and a miniscule shake of his head. Sometimes he'd say something unbelievably witty and sardonic and not realize it, shown in his look of utter shock when I laughed at him. He didn't seem the type that wouldn't at least give me an honest answer if I requested a visit. 

So there I was, ten minutes to go in Physics, Friday afternoon, and trying to finish my homework before initiating a conversation. Nur was a hard worker, but he always finished the assignment early, in such a way that I was beginning to envy him. It took a lot of stress away from talking to him, though, since I knew I wasn't distracting him. 

"So, what do you do when you're not in school?"

The way he responded to me seemed as though he were timing me, because he'd always glance at the clock before saying anything. "Nothing terribly interesting," he murmured, "I study, I eat when I have to, I sleep."

"Sounds kind of boring," I said with a wince. 

"From time to time it is, but I've gotten used to it."

For whatever reason, I'd taken to doodling things on the inside cover of my book. At least it gave me something to do with my hands. "Well, if it ever does -- do you want to hang out sometime?"

"Hang out?"

The way he said it -- practically mispronouncing the whole thing -- indicated he'd probably never engaged in such an act before. Poor kid. 

"Yeah. Hang out. Y'know, you could come over to my dad's house maybe. We could just talk, or watch movies, go walking…" I trailed off awkwardly when I realized he was doing the half-smile thing again. As I've told you before, that's usually his equivalent of laughing, so I didn't know whether to take that badly or not. 

Just as quickly as that smile appeared, it vanished again, and Nur set to gathering his books together. "That's a generous offer, but I really don't think I could."

"Oh." All the enthusiasm dropped out of my voice, and I nodded. "I understand. It's all right --"

"It's nothing against you. I think I would quite like to, but n-- my father probably would not appreciate my wandering off with someone he doesn't know."

"Oh, okay." I drew a hand to my chin in contemplation, grasping at straws and compromises. "Well, my dad works for him. So technically, you wouldn't be going anywhere he couldn't call and check up, right?"

Nur frowned and pushed his hair out of his face. "I don't know -- when?"

"Anytime. I mean, I'm free this afternoon or anytime this weekend if you are." 

He muttered something I didn't quite catch and did not give me a chance to inquire about it. "Walk with me to my father's car after school and I will ask him there. If he agrees, I will walk home with you."

Which probably meant that my building suspicion could indeed be right: Nathaniel Essex sounded like a controlling bastard, but too much of a coward to make a scene in broad daylight and in front of someone else. I guessed Nur thought he had better chances at getting a 'yes' from him if I was there standing directly behind him. 

"Cool," I said. "I can do that."

"You're sure it is all right."

"Sure I'm sure," I assured him, "and if after one afternoon my company is so unbearable, you're under no obligation to follow me home again."

Again, that smile. "Very well. Are you turning in your work today or taking it home?" 

"Huh?"

He tapped a white finger on my physics book. "Did you finish the work?"

"Oh." I blushed. "Yeah."

"You might want to turn it in, then."

"Sure thing." I pulled the paper from its folded place in the pages and stood, then paused. "Do you want me to take yours, too?" 

When I extended my hand, he jerked away so fast that I thought he was going to hit me. "No." He held his paper out of reach and rose slowly, seemingly not aware that he'd just scared me. "I can do it myself."

"I'm sorry," I relented.

He shook his head. "It's not your fault. I just don't like to be helped." 

I think that bothered me more than anything he could have said. Surely, I wasn't going to hold it against him for desiring to be a little independent, but what that concept added to the equation was nothing positive. Nur was the quiet type, and he never seemed to wear anything that showed off more than his hands, then maybe his chin and up. His father, by admission, was an asshole. The kid reacted almost _violently _when I tried to do him a favor, and to top it all off, he says it's a habit. What, exactly, did he have to deal with at home?

All that and more swam through my head as I turned in my bookwork and sat again, and upon returning, my thoughts founds voice. "Nur, I want you to do me a favor," I said quietly. 

Since he was packing things away in his book bag, he was too distracted to actually look me in the face. The only bit of recognition I got was the quirk of an eyebrow. "A favor?"

"Yeah." I kept my voice low. If the concern on my face was apparent, it seemed best I didn't invite anyone else to turn and see it. "Will you?"

"What is it you want?"

"I want you to promise me that, if you ever feel like you don't want to go home after school, you won't."

That got his full attention, and he gaped at me as though I were insane. Understanding swept across his features, and another shake of his head. "That would not do me very much good."

"_Please." _

"Where would I go if I did not go home?"

"Here." I dragged a sheet of scrap paper out of my purse and scribbled my father's address onto it, and my first notion was to place it directly in his hand, but I remembered what he did the last time I reached for him. Hesitantly, I placed it instead on top of his physics book. 

Nur took it up and examined it carefully.

"Don't throw it away," I said.

He nodded and shoved it into his pocket.

"Do you still want to wait and ask your father?"

For a moment he seemed to hunch over, much like he had been that first day I saw him. But as quickly as he reverted, the self-consciousness dropped from his stance. Confidently, he sat up straight and hauled his book bag onto his desktop. "If you will allow me the use of your telephone when we reach your home, I think I can manage without."

TO BE CONTINUED…


End file.
